There certainly is a knitting craze (that has probably been all the rage for some time, but leave it to me to be the last to find out!). And I’m not the only one who thinks Portland in particular has a knitting fetish. First it was just watching these women knitting up a storm on the bus. Then it was passing all these incredibly posh knitting stores like this one and this one and this one and this one. The bug was starting to itch and now I see Fluffy Flowers creations with a sewing machine and recycled materials and I’m about to jump on the flow of the tide!
I’ve got a sneaky feeling that this little hobby would be a tad time consuming (relative to the time available for a full-time working stay-at-home mom of a toddler?) and a tad expensive (relative to a full-time working stay-at-home mom of a toddler with about $50 to her name?)… so perhaps embarking on this little venture will have to wait. Seriously, though, check out those links and LOOK me in the eye and TELL me you don’t want a seat on that bandwagon? YEAH, that’s what I thought…
I just got back from another night of “one of THOSE nights” for me, one where I nervously talked enough to safely say I dominated the conversation and spilled all for the sake of being “authentic”. When I come back from those nights, when I am just spent and soiled and bewildered as my “self” returns to me, I feel like I can sympathize with the Saints of old that would chastise themselves or whip their own bodies or something. I’ve got the dueling cavaliers on either shoulder the entire evening, telling me what to say, what not to say- made particularly nervous and unlike me by any one in the group being extra quiet. That’s weird for me too because I seem to feel like the big sister who has to make friends for the sake of those who go unheard, like if I just share something else and keep the conversation going then eventually the egg will crack and every one in the group will relax and be themselves too- although I am the last thing from relaxed or myself at the moment, the only difference between me and them being that I can’t shut my f-ing mouth. And when the group dynamic can go on without me and every one is laughing and carrying on their own conversation, I very rarely wish to join the topics because I love the fact that I can just sit back and watch it happen and NOT have to share my example or experience of whatever particular subject happens to be on the table.
BLEH!
I thought the self-wandering, identity seeking phase ended with puberty, but clearly my insecurities are fresh and bare for all to see, mostly ME.
I recently watched Ms. Beatrix Potter, and there was one point in there where she is being told about her foolish decision to purchase a farm and, (after living under an insufferable social climbing mother, losing her (unapproved of) first love to death, and simultaneously turning her “little stories and paintings” into a best selling children’s book), she tells the man that she is “no longer in the habit of being lectured to”. Something in me was like “Yeah!” when she said that; I cheered her on in my heart because I absolutely love those characters at last embracing being okay in their own skin, having no explanation to give to any one about what they do with their time, money, love, faith, etc etc etc. I have very few balls when it comes to stuff like that. I don’t want to disappoint people, in general I want people to be comfortable and happy and possibly even like me, but at the same time I don’t compromise “being myself” (whatever that means) when I’m around them anymore, not very much anyway.
It used to be that one friend knew me as a proper, faithful lady and another knew me as a fiery, talkative eccentric (which made for an awkward time when the two met and we hung out as a threesome- who to be, who to be?) And I can remember this time last year making it my goal that this facade would end. Welcoming myself into the blog-osphere was good practice- which person would I present to the masses- family, friends, in-laws, strangers, co-workers, church peers- they would all have access to this little URL and would all have to get used to one and only one Vivian- some days completely safe and other days a crazy rant of a post- and I would similarily have to allow it to happen- even force it to happen, for the sake of being consistent. That means I can’t hang out with a family member and tell them, “oh yeah, those crazy mom’s checkin their kids toys for lead paint!” because I AM that mom and I already blogged about it. See what I mean? Every one gets the same story- they begin to get used to it OR stop getting to know me if they so choose, but in the end I have no apologies or explinations or back-peddling. What you see/read is what you get.
Yep, so my “home community” has this link and people I’m trying to get to know and would prefer they come to like me can read all about my insanity right here and that’s that. My husband, come to find out, passes it along to members of his family I’ve never even met, (like, can’t he just give them our FLICKR account if they want photo’s of Lil’ E??? I mean, really, this is my PERSONAL weblog) but then I’m faced with the self-coaxing again: okay, I will make the conscious decision to not adjust what I’m thinking/feeling at the moment to cater to one particular audience (as if that many people even read my blog! My stats say about 350 average it daily, and I’m thinking most of that’s bogus or my own navigating to approve comments, lol!) but you get the drift. It’s a great tool if you choose to be indeed “personal” with it.
Larry Crab, in his genius book Inside Out, has helped me with this a lot too, and so armed with this agenda of being authentic, non-private, communal, imperfect christian I do NOT behave differently around my husband, (ie. bat my eyes, soften my voice, hold his hand, in front of a group of people when that is NOT how we act alone. I treat him nearly exactly the same, except of course that at home I’m more prone to raising my voice ) and I try very hard not to behave differently as a parent. I find that usually people are relieved to hear my stories of horror at my own failings as a mother and wife, that some one like me has allowed themselves to be known and they no longer have to wonder about what skeletons are in my closet, or worse, whether they are all alone with theirs.
The more I get to know people, it is so so so true that every one is just as nuts as I am. I mean, the people I would have hands down said were pretty “together” have been the ones caught in the worst addictions, the ones who deal with very little of their own childhood hurts or marital problems, they have the biggest melt downs and live a life that is false so it builds up and builds up and then they freak out in rage. They want people to know so little about them that no one can ever truly “get in” and when they do, it is so shocking what they see (because such a different person was presented to them all along!) that they don’t want to revisit the friendship again.
Didn’t Christ teach a different way of being? Was he worried what people would think when he washed feet, touched lepers, called Pharisees a “broad of snakes!”, overturned TEMPLE tables, or stood up for a woman (presumably naked) caught “in the very act of adultery”? Were the early Christians, who met in backyards and sang songs together and shared everything and sold all their possessions- were they particularly shy about “airing dirty laundry”- for crying out loud they were likely sharing the clothes off their back, not to mention all of their sins and struggles laid bare. The culture of the first followers of Christ did not leave room for pretension or saving face regarding financial means, marital happiness, parental perfection or spiritual enlightenment. It was all hangin out there, ugly and gross, so they could together join hands and GROW.
Being me: I have no flippin clue what that means sometimes. Is the me I think I am just a persona too, am I just the product of my environment or the predestined personality of the Creator, or the physiological make up of a bunch of random DNA molecules or where the stars happened to align at the moment I was born? Some of this is fairly far fetched, of course, but personality theorists have gone even further in their guessing!
My thought is that I’ll start to figure it out after the me I present to others gets embarrassing, humiliating, but in the end and as I already stated: consistent. And that, at least, I think I’m starting to have going for me.
On a completely other angle, I AM aware that my limited knowledge and experience makes me no expert, even on myself, and that many wiser souls than I might conclude that the more self-forgetful, ie. self-LESS or NOT CONSCIOUS of oneself we are, the more we will actually be “ourselves”.
In the meantime, I admit that I really envy the fly on the wall, wishing I could revert back to the timid Vivian I once was, whose face turned red when eyes were on me so I never contributed a thing when not completely comfortable with those I was with. But its sort of like Egypt- once you have grown beyond that point, you’ve got bigger demons to deal with and more of that “much is given” to wrestle with. Oh my gosh, I’m going to quickly end this post before I start saying something that sounds way too much like Peter, a.k.a. “Spiderman”’s Uncle: “With great power comes great responsibility”.
I haven’t written in a few days, which isn’t all that typical of me lately, because of reasons I don’t even know how to pin down. I’ve been feeling as though I’m floating lately, not really here all the time. I don’t think I’m unhappy or anything, just sort of bored, tired, lethargic. I don’t know. I can take on things sometimes and try to shoulder it harder or longer than I should and I don’t stop and ask myself WTF, you know? I don’t even think I’m talking about anything in particular.
Perhaps I need more close friends and family here, of course that could be. I’m also feeling a little discontent, wanting to stop freakin worrying about money and never having enough to do or purchase the things I want, which sounds SO lame, I know. But seriously, I’m damn tired of being broke and trying so begrudgingly to be frugal. It’s a pain in the rear. You got your degrees, you got your jobs, congratulations- now you have to pay off all your debt. After that, you can work on saving for college and retirement, or paying off your mortgage if you’re lucky enough to have a home to truly call your own, which it turns out could be incredibly overrated.
And I’ve been sad lately at things I don’t think should make me quite so sad. I let Lil’ E stay up way too late last night and felt like the worst parent on the planet. I found out a close friend who I haven’t been able to really talk to in months is off to a bible college of sorts in the bahamas and I feel so bad that I knew nothing of this and all the different directions every one goes in life. Sometimes I think connections are so awesome. You go for a walk to kill time and end up meeting some one a few blocks down who is trained in landscape architecture and has awesome tips and encouragement about your organic garden. You plan for the right pet and meet a breeder who is a talkative, interesting, informative home-schooling mom, (and has the perfect pet for our family). So in these moments I want to get on this blog or remark to some one in person about how incredibly delightful these connections are- how two people end up meeting or effecting each other’s lives in a way that seems just too strange to not be Orchestrated.
Other times its connections that I mourn - one’s that are falling apart from distance and lack of cultivation. Sometimes I mourn one’s that are just fine, because its terrible events that bring two people together, like earlier this week when Lil’ E and I were walking to the park and saw a cat dying on the sidewalk. With the joint effort of myself and the mailman, we managed to read the ID tag and call the number to identify the pet’s owner’s, who it turns out had just moved in across the street from where the cat lay after being, apparently, hit by a car. It was difficult for me particularly because Lil’ E didn’t get it and kept meowing at the cat and telling me it had a boo boo. When it took its last breath, Lil’ E told me the kitty cat was tired and was going to sleep. And here in this event I connected with the mail man, as we hunched over a bloody feline corpse, because I was grateful some one else cared, grateful he had a cell phone, grateful he was another freakin adult to balance my feelings of sorrow over my child’s first death experience and make me aware of my own sensibilities.
This week I’ve looked a little more at my myspace friends while I’m bored and waiting for Hubby to get back from his 7am-10:30pm work schedule. I don’t know why, but I’m always so surprised, even disturbed, by the fact that so many old and even current friends are doing such vastly different things than I. I get this snapshot, this weird MySpace thing that it is, of their “profile” and can see how they want to be perceived- what they want people to know about them. Are they edgy? Witty? Do they have lots of friends and comments, do they list a slue of fascinating books or movies in their interests? Sure we all do it, right? Without even thinking much about it, we figure out fairly quickly, though it might change as often as we change our shoes, who we want to be to the rest of the world. And in the end, the things I most want to tell people about myself but don’t because it seems so ridiculous, is that I really, really liked reading a book about pumpkins to my son today. I wonder if a lot of stay-at-home moms feel this way, like the highlight of their day was curbing a temper tantrum so they could enjoy a MUG (”for here!”) of java at a coffee shop fairly uninterrupted- I mean this is like a humongous personal feat, people! But when you look around and see other adults in the world DO NOT CARE about whether or not you got your toddler to eat zucchini, it can feel as though the entire ball of earth is a black hole that has just swallowed you up because you are completely, eerily, alone. Like, “wow, this is kinda crazy… what am I living my life for if these are my daily highlights? where is my life going? who am I? Is any one else here? Hello?” (echoes ensue, yada yada yada.)
This is only one small piece of the puzzle as I uncover this strangely not-here-but-here mood I’ve been in, hidden behind a nice tired smile and way too much talking.
Long flights, gorgeous location, invigorating event, lots of multi-tasking, little sleep: Phoenix in a nutshell! Biggest take-away? Taking a picture with former NYC mayor Rudy Gulianni…
Our red honda civic sports the bumper sticker, and a pin that winds up in various drawers around the house reads, “I heart Publix”. Publix, the grocery store we shop at, has locations only in the southeast region of the nation but is listed as one of the top 10 supermarkets. If you don’t live near one, you’re missing out!
Our local store boasts a shushi bar (made on site by a su(sp?) chef, as well as a chinese food buffet. They have a station for live demonstrations of Apron’s recipes. One of my favorite things about Publix is that it is not expensive, especially if you shop sales, which are often better than other local chains such as Winn Dixie.
Not to mention they give my husband a paycheck each week.
Anyway, I just have publix on my mind today because I’ve come across some cool publix findings, thanks to Josh at EP. Check out the “rustic Publix” and the blog on their packaging campaign.
It goes without saying that the month I attempt to “cut back” on foods with extra calories, fat, or sugar, clever little impish people with their high-pitched cackle will strum their fingers together and come up with a way to FORCE my indulgence on a tasty new concoction.
Cold Stone Creamery’s new Dark Chocolate Peppermint is one such evil scheme. Mmmmmm … *drool like Homer Simpson over donuts and drumsticks*
Though Mud Pie Mojo (pictured below) is usually my absolute favorite, I now think about Dark Chocolate Peppermint as much as men think about sex. I’m told that’s every 30 or so seconds, si?
No, I’m not really THAT much of a glutton. I’m not THAT obsessed with FOOD, sheesh. Consider this, instead, a product review. All professional and platonic and un-attached:
Dark Chocolate Peppermint: A+
Seeee, no harm done.
Gotta go, Hubby just stepped on the picture frame we were gonna give Grandma while we celebrate with them during Thanksgiving, so it looks like we will just HAVE to go back to Kohl’s and get a knew one… Oh well, I guess I’ll just HAVE to get a kiddie scoop of Dark Chocolate Peppermint ice cream next door at Coldstone while we are at it. Christmas is SUCH a pain
Oh, and I’m SUCH a hypocrite because tonights article for Polk Voice is going to be on cutting the sweets out of the holidays!
The morning cup of Cafe Noir is an integral part of the life of a Creole household. The Creoles hold as a physiological fact that this custom contributes to longevity, and point, day after day, to examples of old men and women of fourscore, and over, who attest to the powerful aid they have received through life from a good, fragrant cup of coffee in the early morning. — The Picayune Creole Cook Book (1901)
Well well well.
Some things I have “asked” for this year, some more realistic than others!
Our red honda civic sports the bumper sticker, and a pin that winds up in various drawers around the house reads, “I heart Publix”. 
Photo from ColdStone press, not me!
